


Old Fanon Craig Vs New Fanon Craig

by plutostar



Category: South Park
Genre: Drabble, General, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, One Shot, doppleganger, warm up writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 06:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12977973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutostar/pseuds/plutostar
Summary: South Park is definitely diagnosed with Small Town Syndrome. Strange things happen in the place all the time. What happens when a too familiar face pops up at the Tucker’s residence early in the morning. (i.e. How this writer’s muse copes with Craig 2.0.)





	Old Fanon Craig Vs New Fanon Craig

Craig is not sure how any of this happened. South Park was a fucking weird mountain town where the unexplainable occurred from time to time. It didn’t mean he had to participate though. Nice and boring. That’s how he liked it. That’s why when he opened the door to his parent’s house he was not a fan of the face staring back at him. 

Standing in his doorway was a tall, long-legged and broad-shouldered asshole dressed in fine black leather. His hair is straight, black and covered by a familiar blue hat with a yellow puff ball at the top. Multiple piercings glittered in the early morning sun and one pierced brow raised slightly at him. 

“Nope.” He went to close the door on the person who had his face but a black boot prevented it. The fucker pushed through the doorway, fiddling with a cigarette between his fingers as he entered the foyer. 

Craig was wide awake now. “What the hell is your problem?” He snapped.

“A dork like you replaced me.” A cold gaze swept up and down Craig's frame, examining and nitpicking. He was apparently under-dressed for Mr. Steal-your-face. Too fucking bad. 

“Your eyes look like vomit.” He finally said simply. In response, Craig gave him a nice view of his middle finger.

Fine. The guy wanted to be in his house. Who cares. He didn’t have to interact with him. It was really fucking early anyway. Craig turned towards the stairs, fully ignoring his double in favor of going back to very warm and comfortable bed.

“Why you?” The tone was icy and even but it was his voice. The same nasally voice he heard and occasionally cringed at on all of his videos. It unnerved him. What was this guy's deal? Was this some kind of self-esteem venture? Were the parents of South Park attempting to scare their children with the Future Me program again? That didn’t make sense though. The guy looked just like him besides his eye color. Like they could be twins. It had to be a dream. The human brain did fucked up shit all the time. 

“Answer me, ass.” The intruder growled as he strode forward, getting ahead of the brunette and forcing him to stop by slamming his fist against the wall. 

“You’re not real,” Craig stated flatly, eyes wary. More for himself than anything. 

He blinked at that, his crystal blue eyes glared at him behind heavy lashes before focusing behind Craig, taking in the wall lined with family portraits, tacky generic J-mart paintings, and some of the stupid yaoi drawings his father was so desperate to own. 

A picture of Tweek was also amongst the others on the living room wall. Laura insisted on family portraits last Thanksgiving and full heartedly included Tweek in the entire fiasco. In the picture, Tweek was smiling softly with a brief peek of his natural tooth gap peeking through. Even a still frame capture the tell signs of the nervous energy that radiated from the blonde on a regular basis. It was an okay photograph. But not Craig’s favorite. Tweek looked good in all his photos. But there was something about catching Tweek off guard in a relaxed state sipping on coffee while deep in thought. It was those rare moments that left Craig breathless. 

“Nothing changed with him.” His lips twitched. "Paler, somehow, maybe. The freckles are a nice touch."

Craig paused, following his line of sight and clenched his jaw when he found the source of his comment. 

“Don’t talk about him, prick!” His words sounded slushy with his retainer in his mouth. He bet the infuriating ass in front of him had perfect teeth. Craig certainly did not like the way this guy was looking at his boyfriend’s picture. Half-lidded eyes and all. Tweek was off limits. “And fuck off.”

He nudged his way by the taller guy, ignoring him once again as he made his way to his room. He followed and Craig tensed in dread. 

“Are you hard of hearing?” Craig asked, annoyed that he’s even getting riled up, but honestly. 

The fucker didn’t answer him, just sent another icy glare with his oh-so-wonderful blue eyes. Craig decided then that he wasn’t going to let himself entertain this situation anymore. None of it was real anyway. It was just some half-baked delusion his brain decided to focus on for whatever reason. Determined, he crossed his room to his bed. 

“Stripe.” The intruder breathed out and step up to Stripe’s cage, reaching his hand out to gently stroke Stripe’s fur. The traitorous thing cooed at him. His guinea pug. His unconditional love. He had to painfully watch Stripe rub his face into the bastard’s palm. Fuck this dream.

Glowering, Craig fell onto his bed and closed his eyes. He wasn’t falling for the bait. Just go to sleep and wake back up where there are no strangers with his face that exist. He blinked hard, suddenly startled by the intergalactic sounds pumping through his phone’s speakers. 

Craig picked up his phone and pulled it to his ear as his eyes involuntarily moved over to the other version of himself. He was lighting a cigarette and leaning against the wall glaring right back at him. Craig hoped the asshole would disintegrate in the cancerous ball of smoke that was purposefully directed at him. 

“Craig!?” 

“Yeah, babe?” He answered. He heard his boyfriend suck in a frantic breath.

“Ah, shit dude! There’s an alien or demon-!” Tweek wailed. “My face. It has my face! Oh man, I think I killed it." 

“Is that so?” Craig heaved a sigh, plucking idly at the fabric of his shirt. He really did hate South Park.


End file.
